


Compromise

by snarechan



Category: Transformers, Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Drama, Family, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-07
Updated: 2009-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-RotF. What we get might not be what we want, or even need, but that doesn't always mean it's a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackiesdungeon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=blackiesdungeon).



> I was asked by blackiesdungeon to write about Optimus Prime/Sam Witwicky, with eventual bonding of some kind. I don't have a clear image on such concepts and couldn't figure out how to go into any kind of detail, which is why this is only rated Teen and not Mature. >.>; There were some other details, like Sam remaining friends with Bumblebee, and while I was unable to include everything, I'm proud of the end product and what I did manage to squeeze in.

Out on the ocean, on that huge carrier ship, Sam Witwicky, world savior, relaxed for the first time in days. His muscles felt like putty under his jacket, and were he to loosen up a fraction more he’d likely melt into a puddle.

It felt good to be that alive.

The clunking of heavy footsteps alerted him to the approach of one of the Autobots; without looking to confirm it, he knew it was Optimus Prime. The leader of the Autobots had a presence that was intimidating, awe-inspiring, and protective all wrapped up in one. Such a bombardment of sensations made Sam want to straighten up and salute. Unsure of which he should settle on, he eventually offered up a smile and chose to look back over the sea.

He was nodded at in return, Optimus silent as he came to stand beside him. Neither exchanged words; they didn’t need to. After an ordeal such as what had happened in Egypt, what was there to talk about? The trial spoke for itself, leaving them in a world shared between just the two of them. It was there that they basked in one another’s presence, soaking in the companionship and the fact that they were there to share it in the first place.

Back then, it’d been enough.

* * *

Sam, college student at Princeton University, was having trouble sitting still. The clock in his Friday, two o’ clock class was taking its time reaching the end mark, forcing him to resort to drastic measures concerning distraction. The rapid tapping of the eraser end of his number two pencil was easily annoying his nearby classmates.

Tick, tock, almost there…tick, tock, the little hand clicked a little bit closer, tick, tock…

Done.

And he was gone, rushing out the doors and down the steps to take the back way to a secluded parking lot, where only a few cars dared to park. One just so happened to be a yellow Camaro by the name of Bumblebee. He had a visitor’s pass in the window and a passenger inside by the name of Mikaela Banes – a super model who was hidden under a few smears of grease and overalls that were rolled down to reveal a halter top that couldn’t have shown off her curves better.

The driver’s side window was open and Sam didn’t hesitate before leaning in and giving Mikaela a kiss hello, and he gripped the door in a hold that would have felt like a warm handshake to anyone else.

While he loved her – who would be _dumb_ enough not to? – and he was excited about spending time with the two of them this weekend, he wasn’t able to shake the feeling that he was missing something vital.

* * *

At age twenty four, Sam hadn’t visibly grown a day. It struck him on a visit to his parents’ house. Their hair was showing signs of gray (no matter how hard his mom tried to dye it), and he couldn’t help but notice how healthy he continued to look next to them. He hugged and kissed them, his hand strong in his father’s and Sam’s face clinging to youth, while his mother’s had crow’s feet around the eyes to show for all her smiles and frowns.

As he ate dinner with them, and Mikaela as well (Wheelie, too, but he had to take a seat with the dogs on the floor, thanks to previous, improper behavior at his mom and dad’s), her head somehow overlooking his now… he felt a niggling in the back of his mind, sensing that something was off, but he wasn’t sure he was prepared for the reason why. He’d managed to return to this level of normalcy; he didn’t want to risk losing it a third time.

The old saying was that the third time is always the charm, and if he lost this again, he was sure he wouldn’t manage to get it back.

* * *

In the end, Sam Witwicky, current man of misfortune, didn’t have a choice in the matter when it came down to it. He never had, and that’s what he hated most – the lack of control, the halting stops in life, and how everything that _could_ go wrong inevitably _did._

This time, it wasn’t a surprise; Sam had sensed it like an ominous storm threatening to flood his parade.

Midnight, the typical hour of calamity, found him fully dressed and heading outside. His head bowed and hands stuffed into his pockets, he strolled with a purpose. His journey was interrupted halfway through by the engine of a powerful sports car, which appeared at his side and continued to move with him. Its door opened to him without stopping. He considered declining the offer, to put off the inevitable for that much longer, but instead simply closed his eyes and got inside.

They stopped at a secluded national park, the hours clearly posted and saying that operations began at sunrise and ended at sundown. They were ignored.

At the parking lot, Bumblebee stopped near the base of the hill, letting him open the door and let himself out when he was ready. Up ahead, partially blocked by the trees and rocks between paths, Sam could see a figure that was older than the plant life, but could tower amongst them like kin – perfectly still and ancient.

“Hello, Sam,” Optimus greeted first, when the human was within range. He resorted to his first name, the meeting personal from the get-go.

“Um. Hi,” he tried, too, but with little success. “Nice night, huh?”

Not the smoothest delay tactic, yet Optimus didn’t make a point to mention it and had the courtesy to consider the question seriously. He folded his arms across his front and gazed upwards, focusing on stars Sam might never see the light from because he was unable to catch or focus on them.

“Yes. It is a nice night.”

Sam refrained from asking further questions, scared of what might come out. Well, he knew what would come out, but the answers were not going to be to his liking.

 _How did you know I was coming?_

 _Why haven’t I kept growing?_

 _What aren’t you telling me this time?_

And just like that, Optimus Prime turned to him, that sad gaze of his that could be so sympathetic one minute and unbendable the next upon him, _knowing_ exactly what it was he needed to hear.

“I am sorry, Sam,” he began.

It was a small consolation for what followed, but at least he meant it.

* * *

Head cradled in his hands, Sam sat on the furthest corner of his bed, going over the night’s conversation.

 _“What if I refuse?”_ he’d asked, acknowledging it for the selfish question it was. But like back then, he didn’t care.

 _“That is your right.”_

It wasn’t direct, it wasn’t helpful or insightful or _useful._ The other’s voice echoing in his head continued to make him angry when he remembered it.

 _“But what if I refuse?”_

 _“That is your right,”_ he’d simply reiterated.

The pain in Optimus Prime’s voice had stopped him from asking for clarification a third time.

* * *

Sam Witwicky, the man with the plan, said, “Okay.”

There was nothing from Optimus Prime, who had frozen. Normally there was something buzzing, turning, grinding, shifting…a well oiled machine that was breathing. But it was like he’d shut down, just for that moment.

“Okay,” the man said again, softer, unsure. “I mean, okay, I’ll do it.”

“Sam-”

“On one condition,” he interrupted, “I….not right now. I can’t.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Sam demanded, and it came out more accusatory than he’d intended.

The Autobot placed a hand over his chest, like someone trying to soothe a burn, and simply murmured, “Yes.”

A little humbled by the admission, Sam fell silent. He had to re-gather his nerve, having built it up prior to their second meeting. But it’d been made of light material and started to crumble when the weight grew. Remembering why he did this – holding onto the fact that there was more than just himself at stake here – he straightened. This time, he held.

“I’ll… This might not be so bad. I hope. And…yeah. Okay. How long…?”

“As long as you need,” Optimus Prime reassured, which may have been leader speak for painfully forever or short as hell. There was no real telling.

“Okay. In my eighties, then. I pinky promise,” Sam vowed, holding up his right digit. It might not have been the most ideal way to keep his word, but if his parents had managed to make their relationship work on trust alone, then he could, too.

Optimus Prime paused, head tilted, unsure of the meaning and no doubt searching every website from the locally maintained to Russia for the correct response. When he figured it out, he nodded and kneeled, mimicking his hand gesture. Gently, Sam tapped it to his, the deal done.

**Epilogue**

Sitting on Optimus Prime’s shoulder, looking as spry and clumsy as he had back in the day, no one would have suspected Sam Witwicky was turning eighty-seven that day. Of course, the crew on the current base they resided on had found out – some of the Autobots could be a bit chatty, and word had spread.

A party had been thrown in his honor, with a cake that wasn’t big enough to fit all the candles and presents like shirts with “Congrats, You’ve Made it to Old Fart Status!” printed over the front. He was wearing one of them now, young at heart to appreciate the humor in it and wise enough not to take offense. He’d figured out that it was too tiring to stay grumpy until the end of time (and no one would believe he’d gone senile).

The celebration was still going on, but without him now. Optimus had sensed that he was growing weary and taken him outside, the two of them re-energizing with the fresh air.

“The great grand kids are going to get picked up by Bumblebee tomorrow. They should be here to visit in a couple days,” Sam pointed out, not breaking the amiable silence so much as easing into it.

Optimus had probably been briefed on the subject already, but he was excited and wanted to talk about it. It used to hurt, thinking about and meeting them – how his and Mikaela’s children shared so many of her gorgeous looks, and then they’d passed them on to their kids. But…when the leader of the Autobots pointed out that he got to see her live on in them, it made things much easier.

That, and he knew – _understood_ – without asking, in that way they could now, that the other enjoyed seeing the next generation, and vice versa. They were his, too, and he had a way of spoiling them rotten.

It really wasn’t so bad.

-Fin-


End file.
